Jessamy Beech Ch. 05: Southport

Merida nodded, "Just feel a bit pukey. Must be something I ate."

Mrs Taber placed a hand on Merida's forehead, "How are your periods?"

Merida blushed. That wasn't something she liked to discuss in a roomful of people. She whispered, "I've not, uh ... I've not had one for a while."

"How long is a while?"

Jessamy noticed that a hush was descending as villagers grew silent and strained to listen to what Mrs Taber and Merida were saying. Ross was slowly edging closer through the crowd.

Merida whispered, "Two, maybe three months. I th-thought it was because I'm not eating enough."

Mrs Taber smiled reassuringly and placed a hand on Merida's belly, "You're not Ill lass. You're pregnant."

Merida snorted and looked at Mrs Taber as if waiting for the punchline, "You can't be serious."

Mrs Taber nodded, "Like you said. Two, mebbe three month."

Merida looked simultaneously shocked and ecstatic, "I'm pregnant? I'm pregnant! Ewan. We're going to have a baby!"

Ross enfolded her in his strong arms and hugged her tight, with tears of joy gathering in his eyes.

No matter what was going on between them, Jessamy felt she had to be the first to congratulate her friends. She shouldered her way through the surrounding villagers. After all, whether she liked it or not, with Ross as it's father, Merida's baby would be her niece or nephew.

"Congratulations. I'm so happy ... for both of you," Jessamy cried as she embraced them both. Ross gave her an awkward half smile, then simply hugged her back. Because that's what big brothers do.

. . .

Over the following days, Merida was examined properly by Mrs Taber. Bringing a child into the shattered remnants of the world would be a dangerous thing and plans would have to be made. Ross, or Ewan, as Merida still knew him went about his daily chores with a wide grin on his face, training some of the villagers how to use their newly acquired firearms.

Jessamy decided that now wouldn't be a good time to discuss his real identity with Merida. She had enough to worry about.

It was agreed however that traveling south to Cornwall would be out of the question. Freak weather, hostile gangs, lack of food and clean water and who knew what other hazards would be more than enough to test the fittest, most able individuals. A heavily pregnant woman would be a liability and Merida's chances of survival would be small.

Merida and Ross would stay at the Horse and Farrier at least until the baby was born, while Jessamy moved into a small, abandoned cottage next door. It would give them privacy and space and give Jessamy an excuse for not sleeping with them both without raising Merida's suspicion.

. . .

A week later, Jessamy and Ross sat at a table in the Horse and Farrier's beer garden, gazing up at the clear night sky.

Thanatos was up there somewhere. And quite possibly the network of satellites that could save the planet, indistinguishable from the thousands of twinkling stars. Jessamy had kept all of what Dr Bromden had said to herself. After all, he'd been cooped up in the wrecked President's plane for years, alone, so who knew how much of it had been the reliable truth?

And how much the delusional ramblings of a crazy person?

"I'm sorry we won't be traveling south to your family anytime soon," said Ross.

"My family? OUR family. They're your parents as well you know," Jessamy countered. If either of them were still alive she thought.

"I keep forgetting, sorry. I still can't, uh ... remember much of ... the time before."

"It's okay. We can make plans in the spring. What would you like? Boy or girl?" Jessamy smiled. She tried to put memories of the passionate, sweaty nights that she'd shared with her brother and Merida out of her head, but sometimes, when she awoke alone in the small hours she realised how much she missed it.

Missed Merida's long, red curls tickling the inside of her thighs. Missed Ross filling her as his coarse chest hair brushed her nipples. Missed the way they both tasted.

But most of all missed the exhausted, breathless aftermath as the three of them fell asleep in each others arms ...

"Not bothered. At long as it's healthy," answered Ross finally, interrupting her train of thought.

"We ... can't go back to what we had you know," said Jessamy. She gazed out across the valley, in absolute darkness. Once, the lights of isolated farms would have peppered the fellside but now, there was nothing.

"I know Jess ..." Ross was quiet for a moment, then smirked, "for a sister, you are a damned good kisser though."

Jessamy elbowed him in the ribs, "So are you. And ... much more besides. Merida's lucky."

A streaking flash of light caught Jessamy's eye as something plummeted down from the inky sky into the depths of Derwent Water. Even from this distance, some six or seven miles, the explosive impact in the lake was clearly audible as a dull boom.

Two more smaller thuds followed, from the direction of Keswick itself and the hill on which Castlerigg stone circle stood, just outside the town.

"Strikes. Small ones," observed Ross, "thought we'd seen the back of these fuckin' things."

Jessamy felt a sudden chill.

Thanatos ...

It was as if someone had flicked a switch in her head. An epiphany.

With a moment of extreme clarity, Jessamy knew what she had to do. If any of what Bromden had told her was true, she could do something about this.

Ross, Merida, their baby. Everyone. She could save them all.

She turned suddenly to Ross, "I love you Ross. And I love Meri."

Ross looked embarrassed, "A-and I love you too Jess. What's brought this on?"

"Promise me you'll look after Merida and her baby no matter what."

Ross nodded.

"Promise!"

Ross frowned, "I promise. Of course. On my life. What is it Jess? You're scaring me."

Jessamy managed a weak smile, "Just getting soppy now I know I'll be an auntie soon. Give me a cuddle."

Ross hugged his little sister tightly, as below in the valley, a mini tsunami from the meteorite impacts swept along the course of the flooded River Greta.

Jessamy's mind spun as she considered all the planning and preparations she had to make ...

. . .

Dear Meri,

I'm sorry I'm leaving without saying goodbye. But there's something important I have to do. If I told you what, you'd try to stop me leaving, so it's better this way.

Our time together since you rescued me in Oban has been the happiest of my life and I'll never forget a moment of it. I hope all goes well with the pregnancy and that one day I'll get to see your baby.

You have been and always will be my dearest friend. Take care of Ewan. He can be a twat sometimes but I know he'll make a great Dad.

All my love, Jess.

Jessamy sealed the flap on the envelope and carefully slipped it through the letterbox of the Horse and Farrier. Merida would find the letter when she came downstairs in the morning.

It was another cold night. A chill wind blew along the side of Blease Fell from the west and ice rimed the puddles of standing water in Threlkeld's potholed main street. With one last wistful look up at Ross and Merida's bedroom window, Jessamy shouldered her rucksack and crossed the road, heading towards the public footpath that led down to where the boats were moored.

Over the last few days since making her decision, Jessamy had secretly squirreled away provisions for a couple of weeks traveling. Freeze dried noodles, packet soups and cereal bars that were light and took up little space. A water purifier. She'd taken an old AA Road Atlas from the community library to plan her route and a bivvy bag that weighed virtually nothing, to sleep in.

The heaviest items she carried were the M16 assault rifle and Glock handgun from Air Force One's extensive arsenal. She hadn't had to use a weapon against another human being for almost a year and she fervently hoped that it would be a long time before the necessity arose again.

She climbed over the stile into the bramble choked field that led down to the edge of the floodwater, listening all the while. Lookouts were posted at both ends of the village, guarding against attacks by Reivers or roving gangs of opportunistic bandits. But they would be facing outward, not expecting for one moment that the nearest thief was much closer to home.

The rigid inflatables were where they'd been moored after the second and third successful expeditions into Keswick. Jessamy untied, climbed aboard and used the oars to row out into the flooded valley away from the village.

Away from her friends and the safe haven she'd called home for the past months.

When she judged that her distance from Threlkeld was sufficient to make any pursuit problematic, Jessamy started the outboard and aimed the boat at the grassy slope of Clough Head to the south. She would secure the boat so the villagers could easily find it and retrieve it and continue south on foot, avoiding the flooded lakes of Thirlmere, Grasmere and Rydal Water by traversing the mountain ridge of the Helvellyn and Fairfield ranges.

With the high ground of the mountain pass at Dunmail Raise separating the lakes, it would be impossible to travel all the way by boat. But she still hoped to be in Windermere by nightfall.

. . .

On the bleak, windswept flank of Scales Fell to the east of Threlkeld, Rab lowered his night vision goggles.

A tiny village nestled against the side of Blencathra, just above the debris choked waters that flooded the valley. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but many of the buildings looked intact. It might be just the place for his Reivers to rest up for a few days after their killing spree in Glasgow. Hunting down McMurphy and his so-called New Dawn.

Rab yanked on the chain around McMurphy's neck, tugging the man, his latest trophy, closer, "D'you see? A village. Ye can rest up fer a wee while."

McMurphy said nothing. His tongue had been one of the first things the Reivers had taken. Followed by his fingers, eyes and ears.

McMurphy wished he'd fled Glasgow with the man Ewan and his two companions, the blonde and the redhead. His disciples had been no match for the rampaging Reivers and now most of them were either dead or wishing they soon would be.

"You wankers get ready to move out," Rab called back over his shoulder.

Behind him, over thirty Reivers collected their weapons and rose wearily to their feet.

. . .

In Threlkeld itself, Mrs Douglas tried not to let her attention wander. Despite the overcast sky, the dawn mist collecting in the floor of the valley was a beautiful sight.

Before Thanatos, she and her late husband would have been already out on the fells by now, walking their Bedlington terriers and eagerly photographing the start of a new day. But now her only companions were an M16 assault rifle and a flask of coffee. Until she was relieved in an hour or so, her task was to perch on the roof of a bungalow at the edge of the village and watch for intruders.

Mrs Douglas tried to stifle a yawn. At least she had breakfast and a warm bed to look forward to.

The community was going from strength to strength with a newly appointed leader - Mrs Taber, and the discovery of enough supplies to last them for years. And the news that one of the young newcomers was pregnant was the icing on the cake.

Mrs Douglas smiled, then yawned expansively.

THUNK!

The crossbow bolt entered her open mouth, tore through the back of her throat and severed her spine before pinning her head to the bungalow's chimney. She had perhaps a second of consciousness to register the grim looking armoured figures climbing stealthily onto the roof below her before she died.

. . .

During their journey south from Oban, Jessamy and the others had never had to actually climb a mountain. So her leg muscles were totally unprepared for trudging up the steep paths to Calfhow Pike and along the frosty ridge to Watson's Dodd, Raise, and finally the snow dusted plateau of Helvellyn itself.

The day had dawned overcast and cold. Jessamy kept her gloves on in case they froze to the cold metal of the M16. She stopped for a bite to eat around noon in the lee of the mountain's stone summit shelter, gazing around at the breathtaking panorama. The Scafells, the Langdale Pikes, the Coniston fells - all dusted with fresh snow and utterly, utterly deserted.

If only Merida and Ross could have been here to see this, she thought.

Movement caught her eye. She turned slowly, to see a scrawny chaffinch eyeing her cereal bar.

"You want some eh, fella?" Jessamy snapped off a few crumbs and tossed them onto the ground. After a few seconds hesitation, the skittish bird fluttered down and gratefully pecked up the food.

It was a miracle, she thought, that there were still such things as birds.

. . .

From Helvellyn she walked the ridge across Nethermost Pike, Dollywagon Pike and onto the flank of Fairfield, gazing down at the flooded valleys of the Lake District, thousands of feet below. According to the atlas, the main road passed along the shore of Thirlmere here all the way up to Keswick. But under the still black water, floating debris and splintered remains of dead trees, she could see nothing of it.

Despite wanting to get as far as Windermere, by the time the sky began to darken, Jessamy was shattered. She stumbled down off Nab Scar on tired and aching feet and spent the night in an abandoned yurt near Rydal. The yurts had evidently been accommodation for holiday makers as she discovered faded leaflets advertising tours of Honister Slate Mine and the Beatrix Potter experience in Windermere.

Ross had read her all the Beatrix Potter stories when they'd still lived at home in Cornwall, offering his own embellishments such as Squirrel Nutkin's surface to air missile launcher or Mrs Tiggywinkle's poisonous spines. Remembering that spoilt her mood somewhat.

Jessamy slept fitfully with one hand on her Glock as something large and growly crashed about in the undergrowth outside. She didn't go to find out what it was.

. . .

In the morning, a warm drizzle reduced visibility to just a few hundred feet. After hot soup and a strong coffee, Jessamy gathered up her belongings and stepped outside. The tracks of something large with claws were clearly visible in the mud - a bear perhaps? She continued south towards the village of Ambleside keeping to the higher ground above the floods.

What the hell was she doing, Jessamy asked herself. She had a ten year old list of names, nothing more. Jessamy had no way of knowing where any of the people on it were or even if they were still alive.

But if she was heading back to Cornwall anyway perhaps she could search for clues along the way.

Military men. The majority of the names on her laminated list were military men.

"Shit," it suddenly dawned on Jessamy that to obtain the information she so desperately needed she was going to have to speak to the Preens.

The amalgamation of Parachute Regiment and Royal Marines, the elite of the former British Army had run the work camps on Mull with a cruel, iron fist, dishing out brutal punishments for even the most minor misdemeanours. It was one of their officers, Butcher Beaconsfield that had attempted to rape her.

With that realisation, her legs seemed heavier as she slogged through the rain along the eastern shore of Windermere.

Luxury motor yachts wallowed on their sides or upside down in the shallows, battered and streaked with mud. An open-topped double decker bus with the number 555 still legible lay on its side, acting as a dam to the drifts of floating branches and decomposing body parts accumulated behind it.

The villagers of Threlkeld still held on to the last vestiges of civilisation. But down here, there was nothing. Only decay, and ruin. Occasionally the silence was punctuated by a distant scream or gunshot, though Jessamy reached Newby Bridge at the lake's southern end unmolested.

Jessamy spent her second night alone in a luxury Pullman railway carriage on the Lakeside and Haverthwaite steam railway. The once beautifully restored steam locomotives sat rusting in their engine sheds.

Not for the first time that day she wondered about the folly of her mission.

Apart from the few people she loved, was any of this even worth saving?

During the night a chilling thought occurred to her. What if she was carrying Ross's baby as well? Her own brother's child? Once or twice they'd been so caught up in the passion of the moment that they hadn't bothered with a condom. Jessamy touched her belly under her thermals. Surely she'd be able to sense such a change in her body. Her periods had been fairly regular but what if ...

Jessamy dismissed the thought. There were enough problems to overcome without inventing new ones. Nevertheless she barely slept for the remainder of the night.

. . .

The day after, Jessamy followed the main road south east through hills the colour of ash to Lindale, and from there to the town of Grange Over Sands.

From where she had her first view of the expanse of Morecambe Bay ...

Cold, windswept mud flats stretched for almost as far as she could see to the south and west. Beyond that the sea looked grey, flat and dead. East, Jessamy could make out tiny settlements that she knew from reading the atlas to be Arnside and Silverdale. A line of larger buildings way off in the distance across the mud was probably the seaside resort of Morecambe itself.

The mud streaked wreck of a fishing trawler protruded from the mud just offshore. The broken white blades and column of an enormous wind turbine stretched towards her like the skeletal arm of a giant.

Jessamy knew from collecting cockles on Mull at low tide that the mud flats could be treacherous. Even deadly. There would be concealed patches of quicksand. The tide might turn when she was partway across. She would have no choice but to walk around.

Stepping wearily down onto the rusting rails and rotted sleepers of the main railway line to Barrow, Jessamy started walking towards Arnside.

. . .

The crumbling concrete expanse of the Kent Viaduct was all that lay between her and the village of Arnside.

Jessamy squinted along the mangled railway tracks to where a meteorite strike had taken out a fair sized portion of the bridge. The concrete itself was gone, smashed to pieces over a twenty foot section but Jessamy reckoned that if she was careful, if she took her time, she could climb along the rails that still hung in place over the sucking mud below.

She shifted her rucksack so that it hung from just one shoulder. In the event she fell in, the weight would drag her down like a stone. She had to be ready to lose it quickly if necessary.

Jessamy stepped onto the viaduct, noticing that the tide was on its way in, the swirling brown water moving surprisingly fast. She was glad she'd not attempted to cross the bay on foot.

The bridge was narrow. Gravel ballast crunched under her walking boots as she edged forward. The peep-peep of some wading bird sounded from the reedbeds upstream. A Curlew perhaps? On Mull, wild birds had meant only one thing - extra food.

Jessamy eventually came to the ruined section. She guessed it was roughly two thirds of the way across. The hanging rails bounced gently as she tested them with the weight of one foot. Flakes of rust fluttered down into the mud some fifteen feet below.

It would be scary but not impossible.

Clutching the opposite rail with her free hand, Jessamy sidled out on to the ruined track in a half crouch.

It was much easier than she'd hoped. Jessamy found that if she moved slowly to reduce the amount of spring and bounce in the twisted metal, there was nothing to it ...

"And who's little girl are you?"

The voice, from just a few feet ahead startled Jessamy. Her foot slipped on the wet rail with a squeak of rubber sole. Panicked, she snatched at the opposite rail, dropping her M16 in the process. It landed with a wet SPLUTCH in the mud below and sank out of sight.